


At the Edge of the Universe

by alachat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alachat/pseuds/alachat
Summary: Whatever was left, the war polluted. Those staying behind withered away in cramped factories or dreary queues for rationed goods. The earth stank of grime and despair. The air was thick with smoke and a palpable fear of loss. Loss of families, of intimates, of hopes, of dreams.Kuroo was on the verge of choking on that tainted air when Yaku crashed into his life with the force of an asteroid captured by a planet’ gravity.After 10 years, Kuroos waits for Yaku at the edge of the universe.





	At the Edge of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> For KuroYaku Weekend 2018. I'm so sorry I'm late.

If you ask Kuroo what season, year, or even month it is, he won’t be able to answer off the top of his head.

It’s not like he isn’t counting time. He is, meticulously. He just doesn’t care much about specifics.

2 days and 14 hours more.

As the clock ticks away, his space shuttle seems to get even more confining. Kuroo can barely breathe. Every inch of him has gone into overdrive. The soft hum of the engine sounds much like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. All the blinking lights on the control panels — the stars that twinkle only for him, he once joked, to the exasperating groans of his peers and juniors at pilot school — are now more akin to flashing strobe lights, dizzying and nauseating. His fingers have already drummed on every empty surface they can reach; they are now picking at the buttons on his too constricting uniform, a panic away from ripping them all off. He has half a mind to cut his safety belts and jump out of the spacecraft to drown in the vast black void outside.

But he can’t die yet. Not today. Not in the next 2 days, 13 hours and 58 minutes. Not after he has waited all this time.

On the screen, Kai heaves his fifth sigh in as many quarters of an hour.

“Calm down Kuroo, otherwise you will press the wrong button and crash, and Kenma will actually win his bet.”

Kuroo no longer has it in him to reply to Kai’s slight chiding with a quip and a roaring laugh, to fall into an easy banter with his land contact the way they always do on long trips roaming around, searching for lives in remote corners of the universe.

Because on this particular trip, he’s only searching for one single life at the edge of the universe.

“He will be there, you know.” Kai continues, to reassure Kuroo — a futile attempt, at best.

Kuroo tries for a deep breath, and only manages shallow puffs of stale cockpit air. He looks up from the panels and out the window in an attempt to let his eyes find solace in the vastness of space, and his mind in the depth of memories.

——— 

Kuroo met the bane of his existence at the age of 13.

It was a tumultuous time. The war between the two biggest terrestrial planets in this corner of the universe had been raging on for 3 years, long enough to wreck lives but short enough for remembrances of peace to still linger.

Kuroo’s home planet was too small and too tucked away to be used as battlefields, thank goodness. But it wasn’t left untouched either. As a dependency of one of the two belligerent empires, his home had everything stripped off in the name of war. Spaceships were commandeered. Monuments were melted. The most able-bodied were conscripted and shipped off to front lines light years away. Joy was in short supply, happiness rarer still.

Whatever was left, the war polluted. Those staying behind withered away in cramped factories or dreary queues for rationed goods. The earth stank of grime and despair. The air was thick with smoke and a palpable fear of loss. Loss of families, of intimates, of hopes, of dreams.

Kuroo was on the verge of choking on that tainted air when Yaku crashed into his life with the force of an asteroid captured by a planet’ gravity.

He was fighting his way through a crowd of desperate shoppers in the greengrocer’s in his neighbourhood. A shipment of foodstuffs just arrived that morning, and Kuroo wanted to find some sugar for Kenma’s apple pie. Staples such as flour and butter were still available in modest quantity rather often. Eggs he could beg from his mum. Wild apples were just as delicious as those from orchards. A frivolous treat like sugar, however, was a rarity.

After what felt like decades drowning in the sea of people, he made it to the greengrocer’s daughter, who was watching the unfolding chaos in a daze, back flat against the wall. The crowd terrified her, for she thought slowly and spoke softly. Kuroo liked her nonetheless, since she always smiled when she handed him his purchases.

Before he could open his mouth to ask her for the sugar, a voice cut in and sent his pulse soaring.

“Excuse me, miss, where may I find the sugar?”

Kuroo had to look down to find the owner’s of the voice.

Sensing his presence, the boy in front of him turned around.

He was about Kuroo’s age and half a foot shorter. Mussed sandy hair and dark brown eyes sharp enough to cut skin. Clean hand-me-downs for clothes and self-assurance for attitude. He stared at Kuroo, unflinching. Challenging.

The greengrocer’s daughter blinked back into consciousness: “It’s…uhm… at the end of the blue aisle. There’s… actually not that much.”

_Right_.

Less than the blink of an eye later, Kuroo was racing against the boy to the back of the store. Racing there, of course, entailed squeezing themselves through tiny gaps between limbs and brown paper bags, and elbowing their ways through torsos and sacks of rice.

It took Kuroo a few tangled legs later to realise that his above average height, which he had used to tower over the boy for one electric second then, would cost him his — Kenma’s — sugar.

The boy’s much more compact frame let him weave across the store with ease. And he was vicious too. He charged ahead with a feline fierceness, shoving and jostling and tugging and pulling to get what he want.

Unsurprisingly, when Kuroo escaped from the crowd, the boy and the sugar had disappeared.

Hours later, Kuroo apologised to Kenma for the lack of apple pie and continued to curse the boy — _his enemy_ , he decided — under his breath. 

* 

People said that the more you hated something, the more eager life would be to throw said thing at you.

And that was how Kuroo met his newly found enemy at school 3 days later.

School was too grand a name for the shabby room he and Kai were in — had always been in many weekdays for the past 2 years. Education was not a priority in wartime, and their old school had already been repurposed into a makeshift textile mill.

Fortunately, old Nekomata was as wise as he was kind. He rounded up all the children who were still too young to work in factories or fields in his neighbourhood, opened up his old mansion already sagged under the weight of time and war, and taught them what he could. Kuroo respected him a lot, for his wisdom shone bright in the darkest of time, and his hopes remained undimmed even in the face of brutal reality.

But Nekomata wasn’t there yet. Instead, Kuroo once again found himself standing face-to-face with the blond boy — his enemy — from the greengrocer’s.

Kai, courteous as ever, greeted the boy with a smile warmer than what he — the enemy — deserved: “Hey there! Nice to meet you. I’m Kai Nobuyuki.”

“Yaku Morisuke,” the boy answered, eyes unexpectedly warm, voice friendly.

_It’s just an act to lure preys_ , Kuroo’s mind helpfully supplied.

The boy turned to Kuroo. The warmth in those dark brown eyes evaporated like boiling acetone. The challenging stare was back in full force. Kuroo could feel the bitter memories at the greengrocer’s searing his skin.

Kai elbowed him in a not very subtle manner.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he gritted his teeth, making sure to loom as large as his height permitted.

The boy — the enemy — _Yaku_ — returned his scowl tenfold. “What? Have we met before or something?”

_Of course he wouldn’t remember it._

“You took the last bag of sugar from me last week.” Kuroo spat the memories out as though they were pure quinine.

“Really? Don’t remember.” Yaku frown hardened. “And stop staring me down.” His stare grew heavier.

Kuroo refused to let it weigh him down.

Beside him, Kai sighed loudly.

* 

Kuroo had no doubt that Yaku was his natural enemy.

Soon it was no longer just the bag of sugar. Yaku was Kuroo’s opposite in everything, and not just in size. Whatever he liked, be it food, girls, hobbies, space explorers, boys, or even planets, Yaku despised. They fought over the most trivial matters, constantly, noisily, each fight worse than the last. They clawed at each other with sarcasm, bit with taunts, drew blood with insults.

Kuroo was no stranger to verbal brawls. He shot crude remarks at Daishou every time they met. He provoked a fair share of people, just to get a rise out of them. He was armed to the teeth with words, which he often knew how to use in order to wound.

But Daishou stumbled too quickly, and Lev bit the bait too easily.

Yaku, on the other hand, matched Kuroo insult for insult. He gave back everything he got from Kuroo, sometimes with an extra bite. Backing down was never in his blood, and he always stood as if he had been twice the size he was.

It would have been kind of fun if Yaku hadn’t been so infuriating.

Unfortunately, Kai and Kenma took to Yaku almost straight away. Kenma was wary as first, but Yaku — fed up of being looked down on himself no doubt — never treated him as anything less than equal, and that was enough. Kai, kind as ever, befriended the new kid — “Yaku isn’t from here; his parents joined the army, and he had to move here to stay with his relatives,” “he’s a decent chap, you know,” “the kids really like him,” “they don’t call it chilies on Yaku’s planet” — and invited him to all of their outings.

Kuroo swore that Kai did that just to mess with him.

*

It was early afternoon in class, and Kuroo was still bemoaning his friends’ utter betrayal.

In front of the class, Naoi continued to deliver his impassioned speech on dreams and goals. Naoi was one of Nekomata’s helpers and the most eager. He was confident and kind. He knew how to care for the children, from tending to their sprained ankles to teaching them maths to making them either laugh or groan with his corny jokes and cornier words of encouragement. In his company Kuroo felt at ease.

Naoi was now having each cluster of kids stating their dreams. “To give them power”, he proclaimed.

The entire room shook with a collective groan, but no one refused his request. One at a time, the children stood up. Some of their goals were mundane: “I want to save enough coupons for a new shirt”. Some were big and bold: “To build a spaceship faster than the Crow King.” A girl whispered, a dream long-held, never spoken. The kid next to her faltered, unsure what to say.

Kuroo would never falter when it came to his dream though.

Ever since he knew what the flickering lights in the night sky were, he had wanted to reach them. The immensity of the sky made him giddy, the stars were stuff made of wonder. He wanted to see their mysteries with his own eyes, since reading about them soon ceased to be satisfying. He longed for the adventures, for the butterflies in stomach feeling one often had when launching into the unknown, the excitement when stumbling across new things on new lands, the delight when encountering known things in strange places. He dreamt of ice giants blue as the sea and nebulae brighter than electric light.

He dreamt so much that he would declare it as loud as possible, to give it as much power as he could. Because the thing about war was, no matter how well you hid, it would eventually find you, all at once, and rip from your hands the things you held dear. Something as nebulous as a dream was too easy a target.

So when it was his turn, he stood up, determined: “Becoming a space explorer.”

What resounded in the room was double what his own voice would produce. To his right, Yaku was also standing.

As they made faces at each other, several thoughts ran through his mind:

_Why on the seventh Jovian planet is he sitting near me? This is no place for his size._

_It must be Kai’s fault._

_I blame Kai for everything that has gone wrong in my life._

_I blame him for everything that has gone wrong with my life._

_Huh…I guess there’s something we have in common, after all._

*

Yaku was not too bad, Kuroo decided.

He wasn’t too bad when he joined them for their mid-afternoon games of volleyball, couldn’t spike for his life but would save the ball until his arms turned red and blue.

He wasn’t bad at all when he stood up for Kenma against the older kids, stared them down the way he used to stare Kuroo down, knife-like and chromium hard, told them to mind their own goddamn business, sniggered when Kuroo dished out taunts, tore into them before their punches hit home, and only stopped when Kai faked Naoi’s arrival.

He was actually okay when he scuffled with the younger kids, ruffled their hair, and kicked their shins when they got into trouble. (“You must have your shin kicked so often.” “Shut up!”)

He was more than okay when he talked space with Kuroo, argued about the classes of stars, argued more about their favourite space shuttle models, half-begged half bullied Kuroo into teaching him chemistry, taught Kuroo maths in return, listened to Kuroo droning on about comet pathways, watched days of video clips on supernovae and pored over light years worth of star charts on the old tablet with Kuroo in the library until the librarian — a lady as old as some of the time-worn books in her care and just as lettered — had to kick them out.

He was most okay when he painted constellations and galaxies with murmurs on cloudy nights, when they sat side by side on the hill closest to the sky that they could climb. and gave them light with the dream they shared.

*

Two days until Kenma’s birthday and Kuroo was at the library again.

He loved the library. The war had robbed them of many things, but not the library. Not yet, anyway. And he was grateful, for at the library he was content. It was where he could touch the tail of his dream, lying somewhere in the space between the wooden bookcases with bronze plaques bearing numbers and names, and the massive flat screen detailing all the known hypergiants in the universe. Where he didn’t have to think about how his dream was destined to remain a dream, pretty and slipping through his fingers with each passing day.

Lately, being by Yaku’s side started to feel just the same.

He spotted Yaku at their usual table. It had become a habit for them to gather here on days when they had nothing else to do. Usually with Kai, less so often with Kenma. Almost always with one another.

Kai and Kenma weren’t there that day.

The closer Kuroo got to Yaku, the more he could feel the noxious air — the one that had pervaded his homeland ever since the onset of the war — slowly constricting his throat.

For Yaku was sitting hunched over the table, looking smaller than ever. His whole body shook in time with the sound of sniffles — of pain leaking out of a container too small too fragile.

Kuroo sat down next to him. In his hand was a crumpled letter stamped red with the army coat of arms.

The thing about war was, no matter how well you hid, it would eventually find you, all at once, and rip from your hands the things you held dear.

Kuroo was no stranger to words. But then and there, he was silent, suffocating. Even so, he stayed by Yaku’s side.

*

Later, when Yaku’s sniffles had quietened, Kuroo spoke up:

“Hey Yakkun.”

Yaku didn’t dignify the recently coined nickname with a verbal acknowledge. However, he did give Kuroo a wet glance.

“Do you know which planet I want to go the most?”

A beat later, Yaku replied, voice just a tiny bit shaky: “Your stupid ice giant?”

“It’s not stupid,” Kuroo fake-huffed. This was familiar ground; he knew their bickering almost as well as he knew his and Kenma’s easy silence.

“You will die there.”

“I know that. And no that’s not where I want to go.”

“Then where?”

“The edge of the universe.”

“ _Where_?” He finally had Yaku’s full attention.

“Planet HTA-4a5. A tiny planet no bigger than Earth’s moon, to the right of the Eagle’s Wings. It’s the farthest place you can fly to.”

“What’s with the stupid name?”

“Come on, it’s a fitting name, don’t you think? The ultimate destination, the dream of all dreams?”

“Yeah, for a grandpa like you.” The insult had no bite, Yaku’s smile was small and weak, but Kuroo couldn’t trade them for all the diamonds and mischerite in the universe.

*

Later still, when Yaku’s tears had dried and they were buying sugar for Kenma’s apple pie, Yaku said:

“You know what, let’s go to that planet of yours in 10 years time.”

“Which planet? The ice giant?”

“No, dumbass. The edge of the universe.”

That was when he stopped looking at time and started counting time.

*

9 years, 10 months and 4 days more.

The thing about war was, no matter how well you hid, it would eventually find you, all at once, and rip from your hands the things you held dear.

And when war moved, it moved fast. The total war announcement came in the afternoon. The air raids began early evening.

Kuroo didn’t remember details. He didn’t remember lines or contours, just big, irregular shapes coming down from the sky, solid black as though even light wouldn’t have been able to escape from their bellies. He couldn’t recall faces, just a blur of colours, beiges and browns and blues and blacks, blended together into a flat, murky shade. Voices were incoherent. Sounds clashed, pitches chased pitches, and chords stomped on chords. A peculiar stench, a combination of smoke and something — _multiple things_ — metallic, clung to his nose.

Kuroo’s legs were running, but his mind froze on the spot. The power went out. Lights disappeared and sounds amplified. The earth shook and sent the world tumbling down. The sky split; sky fragments rained down, shining like meteorites. His hand reached for Kenma’s and squeezed it tight as they ran towards the shelter. The air was scorching. It wrapped around his throat like a noose, drawing tighter and tighter until his mind collapsed.

*

Kuroo did remember the aftermath though.

He remembered staying underground forever, clutching Kenma’s hand, praying for damp mornings in the library being kicked in the shin for his hopelessness at maths. He remembered getting out of the shelter only to be greeted by the sight of debris and ruins, of the greengrocer’s split in half, of a big pile of bricks and plaster where the library once stood, frantically looking for glimpses of familiar faces, only to be told to hurry up, because his home planet couldn’t be home again, not right after, and they had to flee, for fear of another attack.

He remembered the big, cramped spaceship, whose engines moaned low and interior dark and cold. There were many people he knew, who pulled him and Kenma into hugs stank of smoke and drenched in tears. He saw Nekomata, grim and grey, conversing with the soldiers. Naoi was nowhere to be seen. As were many other people. As was Yaku.

Kuroo remembered the feeling of lost home and fractured dreams.

Days blurred into weeks blurred into months. They arrived at a bigger shelter on a bigger planet. There were too many people, but he still tried to look for sandy hair and eyes sharp enough to cut skin. Some days Kai joined him. There were worried looks, but most of the time, Kai simply followed him. Silent at first, then conversations flowed back as enough time passed to bandage the wounds. Soon there were light jokes and easy banter again, and laughing until the world got a little warmer. Yaku’s name eventually came back too, when the memories of home and dreams stopped digging a void in his chest.

When his eyes were forced to stop searching, his mind never did.

Life without home was hard. They were never in one place for long, as the war bred volatility and hostility. He got separated from Kenma once, and lost touch with Kai for a long time. Life then was cold nights in spaceships heading for even colder emergency mattresses. It was watching his mum growing gaunt with worries and wearies, and listening to his dad’s sighs late at night, when he thought they had all gone to bed. It was losing things he held dear, and frantically gripping whatever was left.

But wherever he went, on days and nights when he could, he always sought out places closest to the sky. There he found ghosts of a place he once fervently wished to stay until the end of time. The ghosts cut into him, but they also gave him comfort.

One cloudy night, Kenma found him there.

His best friend was still playing on a handheld console when he sat down next to Kuroo. How he managed to save his consoles _and_ his games amidst falling warheads and inter-planetary journeys, Kuroo never knew. Perhaps when people really wanted to hold on to something, they would find a way.

They sat in silence for while. As usual, Kuroo was the first to speak:

“You will go blind if you keep playing in the dark, Kenma.”

As usual, Kenma ignored him. When he spoke, it was of something completely different:

“I’m sure Yaku- _san_ is also looking at the night sky,” Kenma lift his eyes off the console. “Knowing him, there probably are stars there.”

_Of course, since it’s Yaku_. Sandy hair and eyes sharp enough to cut skin. Backing down was never in his blood, and he always stood as if he had been twice the size he was.

“Do you think we will ever meet again?” The question broke loose, blinkering in the dark like a firefly.

“Don’t you two always look at the same sky?” Kenma looked back to his game.

The unsaid _of course, dumbass_ sounded suspiciously like Yaku’s voice in Kuroo’s head.

He chuckled loudly. The cold air was hard to breath, but he did so anyway.

“I will become a space explorer,” he said softly, to Kenma, to the cloudy night sky. He kind of understood why people sometimes whispered their dreams. When a dream was as fragile as glass, anything louder than a murmur seemed capable of breaking it into pieces.

“And I will go there,” his voice grew quieter. He wanted to hold on to this dream of his as close as possible, as long as possible.

But he would still try to give it as much power as he could, by repeating it over and over and over again.

“To the edge of the universe.”

*

8 years and 3 months more, the war ended.

7 years more, Kuroo went to pilot school.

——— 

HTA-4a5 is no longer the farthest place you can fly to.

After the war, space exploration effort has continued. The technologies invented for the war have been redirected to more peaceful and more fruitful endeavours. It is an exciting time.

HTA-4a5 is now home to a big space station. The planet was essentially a barren rock when it was first found, but due to its rather strategic position — to the right of a populous galaxy and at the junction of a cluster of newly discovered planets and the Grand Tree nebula — it is very well-visited, even if only as a service station. There are a lot of people today: explorers, researchers, engineers, tourists, merchants to exploit the tourists. They all make noises as warm as apple pies just out of the oven. The air is fresh with newly-vented oxygen. It’s almost festive.

Kuroo is no longer the nervous wreck he was throughout the entire journey. As soon as he touched down, he felt calmer, because he’s finally _here_. He finally no longer has to whisper his dreams like a prayer days after days, and nights after nights.

He’s not completely calm, of course. Who could be, in the face of absolute uncertainty. But he fought on, like he always has, for he trusts Yaku. He trusts that bond created by a dream shared in a hostile world.

Yaku’s not inside the space station. Kuroo doesn’t think he will be. You can’t see the stars here.

So Kuroo sought out the place closest to the sky.

The nearest star is a red dwarf with low luminosity, therefore the perpetual light it shines on this side of the planet is dim. The world is bathed in a low red glow, almost pink. The Grand Tree Nebula is visible, red and blue lights whirling in a celestial dance. It’s the sight he has always dreamt about for the past 10 years. Like always, it spurs him on. He quickens his pace, and soon breaks into a sprint. Up and up he runs, reaching for the stars.

When he finally gets there — a place so close to the sky it feels like you could almost touch it — he finds _him_.

Sandy hair and eyes sharp enough to cut skin.

“You’re late,” Yaku says, gaze unflinching. Challenging.

“I’m a day early,” Kuroo replies, as he closes the 8 steps and 10 years between him and Yaku.

Above them, constellations and galaxies gleam.

* 

_“What do you think lies beyond the edge of the universe?”_

_“Why don’t we find out?”_

/

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. NOTE TO SELF: Never try to write a space opera within a weekend again. Uh uh. That's just your hubris talking. Nope 
> 
> 2\. I wrote this to the soundtrack of _The Theory of Everything_ , which I absolutely adore. Let's all pretend that the crescendo at the end of track 1 "Cambridge, 1963" is the BGM to Kuroo's sprint to the top of the world. 
> 
> 3\. Find me @ [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alachat_) or [Tumblr](http://alachat.tumblr.com/)


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